


The Eavesdropper

by missigma



Category: DCU
Genre: Blow Jobs, Flirting, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 16:01:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8539432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missigma/pseuds/missigma
Summary: “Who are you listening to?” 
Clark made a face as he turned his head away. This close the scent of the liquor that Bruce wore on his throat like aftershave would be overpowering. “Later,” he answered firmly as he caught hold of Bruce’s wrist. He looked past Bruce, eyes fixed on something over his shoulder.
Bruce glanced up. Already, they had attracted attention, and a woman whose name he could not quite remember. Bruce squeezed Clark’s thigh. Underneath him, Clark shifted uncomfortably.
He knew he had to keep pushing Clark, he had to keep him off balance. Otherwise, he would never get a moment alone with him and Clark would never explain why he had flown all this way to eavesdrop. In the moment, Bruce could think of no easier way to do that than to make him lose his temper.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A while ago, after seeing these doodles https://haining-art.tumblr.com/post/59875076553/superbat-doodles , I decided I wanted to write about Bruce publicly flirting with Clark while pretending to be drunk.

Bruce had already set himself up for an early night. He had made his rounds, growing increasingly unsteady as he chatted with each of the politicians, the corporate climbers, the society dames.

Now, he was looking for a grand finale, some final reason to excuse himself for the rest of the night. There were half a dozen reasons he could use, from the well-trodden lines about having had entirely too much to drink or allowing a woman to guide him out the door. But tonight, he had saved someone special for last.

Detached from the scores of glittering Gothamites, Clark Kent sat at a small table near the stairs. His only attempt at cleaning up for the occasion had been adding an ill-fitting suit coat to his typical reporter’s uniform of a blue checked shirt and navy trousers. Waves of dark hair cascaded carelessly onto his forehead and into his eyes. He was perfectly unrecognizable as the Man of Steel.

His eyes were focused on some middle distance as he absently fretted with the white tablecloth. Bruce knew that expression well; Clark was eavesdropping.

“Clark Kent!” Bruce called as he wove his way through the crowd, loudly enough that the couple closest to him fell silent. Ignoring their expressions, he shouldered his way to Clark’s lonely table.

Seeming genuinely startled, Clark looked up. “Mr. Wayne,” he rose hurriedly, pushing his glasses up his nose. Politely, he offered his hand to shake.

Putting his hand to Clark’s chest, Bruce gently pushed him back to his chair. His brow furrowed, Clark slowly sat. Bruce set his glass on the table, then threw an arm around Clark’s shoulders and sat sideways across his lap. 

Clark stiffened beneath him, his hands hovering in the air uncertainly. “Br-Mr. Wayne!” he quickly corrected himself.

Allowing himself a broad grin, Bruce crossed his legs so that his large frame would fit in Clark’s lap. “I didn’t know you were coming, Kent. Quiet night in Metropolis?”

“I guess,” Clark replied distractedly. “I mean, I’m working.” He dropped his hands to his sides in momentary surrender.

“I didn’t see you doing much work.” Stretching out, Bruce picked up his glass. He leaned back against the solid warmth of Clark’s chest and swallowed a mouthful of apple juice. 

Chewing at his tongue, Clark seemed reluctant to reply. Bruce leaned forwards again, setting his glass back on the edge of the table. As he moved, he ground himself against Clark, who was not able to swallow his quick inhale.

Bruce turned back to him, a hint of a smirk on his lips. Pressed against his front, Bruce cupped his cheek and put his lips to his ear. Here, Clark smelled of shampoo and of a softer musk that was all his own. 

“Who are you listening to?” 

Clark made a face as he turned his head away. This close the scent of the liquor that Bruce wore on his throat like aftershave would be overpowering. “Later,” he answered firmly as he caught hold of Bruce’s wrist. He looked past Bruce, eyes fixed on something over his shoulder.

Bruce glanced up. Already, they had attracted attention, and a woman whose name he could not quite remember. Bruce squeezed Clark’s thigh. Underneath him, Clark shifted uncomfortably.

He knew he had to keep pushing Clark, he had to keep him off balance. Otherwise, he would never get a moment alone with him and Clark would never explain why he had flown all this way to eavesdrop. In the moment, Bruce could think of no easier way to do that than to make him lose his temper.

The woman dipped her head slightly as she gave Clark a onceover, eyes pausing admiringly on his broad shoulders. Clark was oblivious, apparently still distracted by Bruce’s hand. “Who’s your friend, Bruce?” she asked.

“Sorry,” Bruce grinned up at her as he ran his fingers through the short hair at the nape of Clark’s neck. “He’s mine.” Clark cleared his throat loudly, and pointedly, Bruce ignored him.

Again, Bruce reached for his glass. Swaying slightly, he overshot and immediately lost his balance. Before Bruce could fall, Clark coiled one strong arm around his waist, instinctively catching him. The sudden movement sloshed the juice and ice out of Bruce’s glass, spilling over Clark’s shirt and Bruce’s knee.

“Sorry,” Bruce smiled breathlessly up at him from his place cradled against his chest.

Instantly, Clark realized he had been played. His jaw tense, he hurriedly rose, bundling Bruce up onto his feet as he did. Leaning against the table, Bruce tracked his path as he headed not for the door but upstairs. 

“I should go apologize.” Bruce made his excuse hurriedly, if remorselessly, to the many staring eyes who had turned to watch Clark’s exit.

 

The door to the upstairs bathroom stood slightly ajar, and through it Bruce could see Clark leaning against the sink. His glasses were tucked in his pocket and the front of his shirt was sodden from his attempt to salvage the juice-stained fabric.

Clark turned towards Bruce as soon as he opened the door, his jaw set grimly. He barely waited for the door to click shut before he stalked closer.

“What were you doing out there?” Clark demanded, stepping close enough to Bruce that their noses nearly touched. “I’m not some prop for you to pretend you’re into while you try to convince everyone you’re drunk.”

“I needed to talk to you,” Bruce replied unapologetically.

“Then talk to me. Don’t-“ he paused, flustered, apparently unwilling to describe exactly what Bruce had done. 

Turning his head slightly, Bruce tried a different tactic. “Did it really affect you?” 

Clark reddened. “N-no, it just-” He backed away, but Bruce pursued him. “Dammit, Bruce.”

“Language,” Bruce teased.

Trapped between the sink and Bruce, Clark refused to look him in the eye. “Clark,” Bruce called his name softly, and reluctantly he looked up. 

Bruce put his hand to Clark’s cheek and leaned close. Lips barely a hairsbreadth apart he paused for a moment in delicious anticipation before Clark stammered, “I, Bruce, I-” The rest of his sentence was lost in Bruce’s mouth as they kissed.

Recovering quickly from his initial nervousness, Clark willingly opened up to his tongue. He brought his hands up, one grasping at Bruce’s shoulder, the other resting at the small of his back. He pulled Bruce flush against him. Bruce let him take his weight in his arms, leaning into the warm, solid strength of his body.

Briefly, Bruce pulled back to breathe. He wanted to give him time to respond, hoping that Clark would have the sense stop this before he could get any further. Instead, Clark looked down at him questioningly, still holding him tight. 

“Should I stop?”

“No.” Clark was surprisingly firm. “No, though I’m still convinced that any moment now you’re going to tell me to suit up,” he admitted, smiling somewhat sheepishly. 

Bruce took Clark’s jaw in his hand, lifting his chin. Clark met his gaze, eager, but still uncertain of his intentions. “Don’t overthink it.” 

Clark nodded slightly, his trust easily restored. His eyes fell shut as Bruce moved close again, lips barely parted. He opened further when Bruce pressed their lips together, his tongue venturing into the heat of his mouth.

Fingers closing around the lapels of Clark’s suitcoat, Bruce pulled the garment down his shoulders. He let it fall in a heap, lips already seeking out a new domain. With a few sharp tugs, Bruce pulled Clark’s tie undone. Nimble fingers reached for the buttons of his shirt. Inch by inch, a new sliver of skin was revealed at his throat. 

Bruce kissed the base of his neck as he pulled his shirt untucked. Gently, he allowed his teeth to scrape along his skin. As he mouthed at the hollow of Clark’s throat, his hands slid down, mapping the muscles of his broad chest and then his stomach. Pushing Clark’s shirttails aside, Bruce hiked up his undershirt.

Grasping Bruce by his hips, Clark pulled him forwards. He pushed his knee between Bruce’s thighs and lifted up, putting just enough pressure on his cock. Bruce groaned into his mouth, before pulling back for air.

Swiftly, Clark slid his fingers up Bruce’s sternum, his touch light. He only managed to tug his tie undone before Bruce caught Clark’s hands and pulled them away from his shirt. 

“Don’t touch.”

With a bemused smile, Clark allowed Bruce to pin his wrists to the sink. After another tangle of tongues, Bruce released him, his fingers reaching for their true goal.

His fingertips teasingly skimmed over the lowest edge of Clark’s stomach as he found the button at his waist. Bruce quickly popped the button undone and drew down his fly. He slid his thumbs under the waistband of Clark’s boxers and pulled them down Clark’s hips, pausing to free his cock from the tightly stretched cotton. 

Clark inhaled as Bruce wrapped his fingers around his thick shaft. His grip firm, Bruce began to stroke him. With one last kiss of Clark’s softly parted lips, he sank to his knees. 

While working Clark’s cock in his fist, Bruce let his lips roam lower. Here the scent of him was thicker, muskier. He mouthed wetly at his balls before taking them into his mouth, one by one. Clark gasped quietly as Bruce pressed his tongue against him, caressing him.

He sat back on his heels, his hand gripping Clark’s cock at the base. Barely leaning forwards, Bruce put his tongue to the crown. He tasted him there, salty and warm, sucking at the tip before easing back. Bruce glanced up, finding his gaze fixed raptly on him. 

Opening his mouth wide, Bruce took his cock inside slowly, still guided by his hand. Clark’s cock lay heavy on his tongue, the flesh hot. He pushed a few inches farther, taking as much as he could comfortably before pulling back, his cheeks hollowed. Above him, he heard Clark groan.

Clark threaded his fingers through his hair, pulling with a steady tension. Bruce dared another glance up as he bobbed steadily on his cock, his lips stretched around him. Clark was leaning heavily against the sink, his head tilted back and his throat bared. 

Dropping his hands to his sides, Bruce pushed himself down until he risked choking. He pulled back and then repeated the motion, taking him deep as he could.

Clark moaned, rocking forwards into Bruce’s mouth. Bruce swallowed around him, trying to take his length, but gagged when he hit the back of his throat.

“Sorry.” Clark withdrew as soon as he realized what he had done. He let go of Bruce’s hair as if burned, pushing himself back against the sink. “I didn’t mean to, I-”

“Quiet,” Bruce rasped, and Clark’s babbling subsided. He pressed the flat of his tongue against Clark and licked a broad stripe along the underside of his cock. Clark stifled a whimper in his hands, and Bruce reached up to drag them away. 

“Fuck my mouth.” Bruce guided Clark’s hands to either side of his head, giving him permission. 

Tentatively, Clark wove his fingers through his hair, nails resting lightly on his scalp. He shivered as Bruce’s breath whispered over his wet flesh. “I don’t want to hurt you,” Clark protested half-heartedly.

“Then be careful,” Bruce advised drily. He allowed himself to be guided back down, opening wide when the head of Clark’s cock brushed against the seam of his lips. 

Almost timidly, Clark thrust into Bruce’s mouth. He moved shallowly at first as he gauged how much Bruce could take, then dropped into a steady rhythm. Clark was careful, never pushing far enough to choke him.

“God, Bruce,” he cried, his fingers pressing against his scalp. Hot cum splattered across Bruce’s tongue. 

 

Rising, Bruce leaned past Clark’s shoulder and spat in the sink. He ran water into his hands and rinsed out his mouth. Carefully, Bruce avoided the mirror. He did not want to know just how difficult it would be to walk out of here looking like he hadn’t just had a cock in his mouth.

“Bruce.” Clark took hold of him by his shoulder, pushing him back against the door. His hand immediately dipped down to cup him through his trousers. Bruce shut his eyes and lifted his hips into his touch.

He needed to leave, if he was to have any hope of getting anything done tonight. He needed to leave, otherwise he would spend the entire night thinking about Clark’s hands on him. 

Clark skimmed his hand down Bruce’s chest, his fingers finally coming to rest on his belt buckle. He dived in, capturing Bruce’s lips and claiming them for himself.

Fighting against his own arousal, Bruce again caught his wrist. “I can’t stay tonight.” 

He saw a flicker of disappointment cross Clark’s face, but that reaction was quickly hidden. “Just a few minutes then?” Clark widened his eyes hopefully. Hard and a few miles beyond desperate, Bruce crumbled immediately.

Barely nodding, Bruce released him. He told himself that this was not giving in to his cock, that this made sense. This would take the edge off, this would give him the night, at least, before he fell back into this same desperation.

He groaned as Clark took his aching shaft in his hand. His grip was tight, and the surface of his palm was just rough enough to lend delightful friction to the slide of skin against skin. It was a relief after the long minutes he had spent on his knees, struggling with the urge to touch himself.

“Come back here in the morning.” Bruce knew he sounded needy, knew he was very likely crossing a line between them. He didn’t care; he had already gladly smashed through every other boundary they had in the space of half an hour. What did one more proposition matter?

“Do you really want me to?”

Bruce found himself whining as Clark brushed the head of his cock with his callused thumb. Words tumbled from his lips, crashing through the barrier he had built around himself. “I want you inside me,” he confessed, thrusting up into his hand. “I want you to pin me-” but Clark cut him off with a kiss.

“In the morning then. Though if you keep talking, I might not be able to wait.” Clark delivered the threat with a smile as he pressed close. Bruce tried to smirk back at him, but was certain he had failed. Putting a hand to his shoulder, Clark held him in place, still stroking him quickly.

“Clark,” Bruce gasped in warning as he felt heat build in his body. He dug his fingers into Clark’s biceps, hard enough that he would have left bruises if he had been anyone else.

“Come on,” Clark encouraged him, holding his gaze. “I want to see you.”

Moaning, Bruce allowed himself to come undone in Clark’s hands.

**Author's Note:**

> When I started out, I wrote Bruce and Clark's first time together about a dozen different ways and this is only one of them. I might post some more this month, time permitting.


End file.
